Pronoia
by The Readers Muse
Summary: It was a different sort of pleasure than he was used to. Stronger and almost sharp.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own "North and South" 2004 or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** This is a Margaret x John x Nicholas fic, the second in a series of drabbles titled: "The Heart's Mark."

 **Warnings:** soul mates au, soul bond, threesome, mild language, canon appropriate before veering off into au territory, drama, romance, mild religious mentions, period typical attitudes regarding multiple partners, mild homophobia, anal sex, anal fingering, oral sex.

 **Pronoia**

"Well, I should be gettin' on," he remarked firmly as he set down his cup. Wondering if he was imagining the buzz from the fine alcohol, rich and fresh from the Master's crystal decanter by the fire, or if it was just nerves.

"Not in this weather, surely?" Margaret - _Mrs. Thornton_ , he reminded himself - spoke up. Looking immediately to the Master who nodded. Swirling his brandy before downing it with a single elegant swallow.

"You must stay the night, Nicholas. I insist," Margaret urged, abandoning her glass of wine to stride over to the windows and part the drapes - tongue clicking in dismay. "You would catch your death in a cold if you went out now."

His brow lifted in spite of himself.

It was barely snowing.

He'd certainly walked home in worse.

But this wasn't about the weather. It was an excuse to make him stay. A way for them to have their way and he to have his pride. Though in truth, devil take him, it rarely took much to bend to them.

Still, he opened his mouth, hesitating.

"Mary and the children-"

"They will manage, Mary has them well in hand," the Master answered smoothly. Crossing over to fill his cup with an overgenerous finger. "And Thomas seems old enough now to keep them in check."

It was true.

But he did feel guilty.

Here he was with a belly of food, in a fine warm room, drinking equally fine spirits no one but the Masters afford. Hell, he'd even been bullied into a bath by that terrier of a housekeeper when he'd walked in. Smelling like rose water and soap and wearing new clothes that were suspiciously well sized on his frame. It was all rather-

"I sent one of the servants over with a basket," Margaret admitted, looking slightly guilty. Long lashes framing her face handsomely as she sent him a pleading look.

The corner of his lip twitched.

"Not as charity," she hurried to say. Reading his mood rightly. "But as a gesture among friends. And one to sooth your worries now."

"Ah, so this was planned was it?" he returned. Getting the impression that there was more going on tonight than just an invitation to their bed.  
"You _are_ stubborn, Nicholas," she pointed out. Making the Master grin into his glass.

 _Aye, he was that right enough._

Still, he kept his eye on them as they looked at each other searchingly. Almost nervous. It was enough to prickle the short hairs on the back of his neck.

"Right then," he remarked, clearing his throat. Determined to nip whatever foolishness they were cooking up at the bud. "What are you two up to? Hmm?"

He was surprised when Margaret blushed.

But more so when the Master had trouble looking him in the eye.

"Nicholas," Margaret started hesitantly. "You understand how you love me when we are together? How John loves me? How we enjoy pleasure together?"

He nodded. Cursing himself for his weakness when his prick firmed in his trousers. He'd learned much about himself and his predilections since the first time. How he found pleasure in watching them. How he found pleasure in her - another man's wife. Pleasure in kissing the Master and rubbing against each other until they came with stuttered sounds more suited to back-alleys and whore houses than the bedroom of a fine house. He was slowly coming to terms with the fact that love could be shared freely, regardless of station or sex.

"Well, I wish for you and John to experience the same. _Together_ ," Margaret finished, hands knotted in her lap. All but trembling with excited nerves.

He blinked. Certain he must have misheard.

That it couldn't be _that_.

Not from a lady's mouth.

"We have done research," she continued, earnest as anything. Leaning forward in her chair as the Master came to stand beside her, watching him with eyes like lit coals. Telling him everything he needed to know about where the man stood as he swallowed hard. "It is much done, if not often discussed. Please Nicholas, at least hear our proposal?"

* * *

When they finished, which in truth wasn't more than a few stuttered sentences, for a long moment all he did was let go of a heavy breath. Fielding hopes of where the evening might take them. Recalling their reassurances that they would abandon the thought entirely if he wished. Even blushing into the warmth of the room when he let his mind stray to the way they'd go about it. _All_ _of_ _it_.

He'd already made up his mind. Knowing he was going to say yes even as he let the moments drag by. That wasn't to say he wasn't nervous or that he didn't have his doubts. It was a hell of a thing to ask a man. Especially one who, before around now, had never even considered the idea of another man's prick in his arse. But for some reason, idea of it being with the Master - _with_ _John_ \- made it seem almost-

He chose his words carefully when he finally did speak. Conscious of the low, possessive throb that issued from his mark as he looked at them.

"Well, I think I'll be needing another drink then."

They only chuckled with him at that. Warm and loving and everything he didn't deserve but planned to keep anyway.

* * *

Dixon and the other servants were decidedly not present as they led the way upstairs. He wasn't rightly sure what they knew or didn't. But what they did, he figured, was enough. Things like not being questioned at the door anymore when he came to call. Or how he'd find his clothes washed and mended, sometimes replaced entirely whenever he stayed the night. Last time it was a new pair of shoes to replace ones that were falling apart. He allowed it, but only just. Knowing it made the Master and Margaret happy.

He stumbled when Margaret tugged him into the bed chambers he'd become all too familiar with over the past few months. Distracting him with a kiss that only turned more pleasant when the Master hemmed in from the back and kissed his neck - making him shiver. Feeling them both as strong hands untied his necktie and let it flutter carelessly to the ground. Working together with Margaret until they had him bare in the lamplight.

It wasn't until then that they spoke.

"We don't have to, just say the word, now or anytime if you aren't ready." Margaret murmured. Cheeks rosy as every breath she took caused her breasts to swell against the gape of her under-things. Laced up with so many ties and buttons he hadn't known where to start the first time he'd undressed her.

He nodded, having no words. He was no coward, but a lifetime of learning was a lot to cast side. Even for them. Even when his prick was hard and thick against his thigh. Already aching for release.

The two of them would be the death of him, he knew it. But what a death it would be.

The Master kissed him then. Biting at his lips before murmuring the same. It was the same voice he'd used the day he'd offered him a job. Anger tempered, but still proud. Still every inch a Master.

"Anytime, Nicholas. I mean what I say."

He'd never thought of himself as a lecherous man. And yet, here he was. All but squirming at the sound of it.

"As do I," he rasped, words surprisingly difficult to get a hold of as Margaret untied her husband's cravat and the Master shrugged out of his jacket. "So get on with it before I change my mind."

Margaret laughed, high and delighted as her eyes flicked down to his cock. Clearing thinking up some sort of scheme as his back hit the mattress and Margaret handed the Master a jar of something.

"Salve to ease the way," she explained, reaching down to drag off her stockings in a way that, any other time, would have had his full attention.

He swallowed hard again.

But he didn't back down.

There was a painful sort of awkwardness as they figured out how best to go about it. Eventually settling with him on his back and Margaret and the Master on either side. Relieved when they seemed determined to go slow.

He tensed when the Master opened the jar and slicked his fingers. Mind immediately harkening back to what the preacher had beaten into them with willow switches and religious fury at the orphanage when he'd been a boy. Or worse, with a sting that was more lasting- his wife, the mother of his children, who'd been gone from him near fifteen years- made her ghost known.

He'd spent so long in mourning. So long keepin' to his own and raising their girls right that he'd looked up one day and realized the years had got on without him. Not that he would have married again. But he had been left with a different type of sadness when he was forced to look ahead and picture what the next five years might look like, then the next ten. God willing. It had been a lonely prospect.

"Don't go anywhere on us, Nicholas. We want you here," Margaret said firmly, sensing his thoughts straying just like a woman would.

"There is no where I'd rather be," he replied honestly, grateful to be free of the tattered ghosts as he raised his hand to her face. Ruddy palm cupping the curve of her cheek as her eyes smiled. Tricking him into complacency before her expression turned wicked.

"Christ, lass," he grunted. Hips rolling up gently - careful not to choke her - as she swiped her tongue across the sensitive head of his prick. Clambering into his lap as his legs remained spread for the Master. Night gown rucked up to show perfect, pale thighs as he gripped her boldly. Encouraging her to get to it as she suckled the head like a babe to breast. Making the muscles in his gut twitch with the effort of staying still.

The damn minx that she was.

He had a mind to what they were doing. Distracting him. Confusing the sensations between old and new. Because not long after Margaret started moving her head in earnest, the Master started ringing his pucker with grease. Teasing and slow- determined to make his cheeks heat.

The sensation was strange as he held himself still. But it wasn't immediately unpleasant. Not like he'd figured it would be anyway. Indeed, soon enough it was a struggle not to twitch and shudder. Caught in the middle of something that had no name or worldly definition. No one had any business touching a fellow down there. At least that was what he'd thought. Now he wasn't so sure.

The burn was almost pleasant when the first finger breached him. Filling and strange, but good in a way he couldn't explain. Enough to keep him lazy and open to it as the burn of the Master's beard hazed down his back like a stilt-brush rash. He was just getting used to the intrusion when the fingers inside him grazed something that made sparks fly in his mind's eye. Going rigid like someone had-

"Nicholas, are you alright?"

It was a different sort of pleasure than he was used to.

Stronger and almost sharp.

Complicated, as he imagined a woman's pleasure might be.

Buried in layers of flesh and cleverly hidden.

"Good lord- he looks almost-"

The finger in his arse slowed and slackened, shocked.

"...If you stop now," he wheezed, fisting the sheets and almost panting. "I'll knock your block clean off."

The Master sounded wrecked as he exhaled wetly.

Margaret, however, seemed excited.

"Just like the book said!" she murmured. Petting his hair back in a way that made him realize he was almost soaked through with sweat.

The blunt of his nails raked down the soft sheets. Lost to it as he bucked his hips, seeking the pressure of Margaret's hand, before pushing back into the Master. Silently encouraging the finger to press up against that spot again and-

 _Holy_ _mother_.

No wonder the church deemed it a sin. Pleasure like this was beyond anything that could be called godly. This was soul tugging. Destructive. Renewing. A-

"Try to stroke it, John. The book said-"

He had no idea what they were on about. He just wanted more. And the Master gave it freely. Brushing that spot inside him until he was coming like it was being dragged out it him. Wetting himself with his own spend with a fractured sound. Feeling it in waves until his head was puddled in Margaret's lap. Too rung out to even have an opinion that wasn't _more_.

"Nicholas- can I? Christ, man. I-"

He looked up, blinking through long lashes that were wet with overwhelmed tears. Finding the Master hovering above him on his knees. A desperate hand tight around the base of his cock, as if to stave off following him.

 _And_ _wasn't_ _that_ _just_ _a_ _thought?_

He nodded, croaking out something encouraging as Margaret leaned down for a messy kiss. Parting his legs of his own accord before the Master hiked them up over his shoulder and pressed his prick against his cleft. Sliding gently in the grease until it found its way and slid - blunt and slowly cleaving - inside. Leaving Margaret to swallow his groans as a muscle in the Master's jaw strained beautifully tight. Hips firm against his skin as both of them tossed back their heads and just breathed.

It was the last rational thought he had for quite some time.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be more to this series.

 **Reference:**

\- pronoia: the belief that the universe is conspiring in your favor; the opposite of paranoia.


End file.
